


Worth a Thousand Words

by DoubleNegative



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Established Relationship, M/M, Photography, Slice of Life, Social Media, Twitter, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-10
Updated: 2016-10-10
Packaged: 2018-08-21 17:14:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8253868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoubleNegative/pseuds/DoubleNegative
Summary: Five pictures Bitty didn't post to social media and one he did





	

_/ _/ 1 \\_ \\_

The selfie, surprisingly enough, is Jack’s idea, but they use Eric’s phone. They’re both shirtless, still damp from their dip in Aunt Linda’s pool, and Jack’s nose and the tips of his ears are pink with sunburn. (It might be the cutest damn thing Eric’s ever seen, and he hopes to hell that when he tells Jack that later, he’ll blush even pinker.) Even surrounded by so many strangers, even having to pretend they’re “just friends,” Eric can’t recall the last time he saw Jack so relaxed, loose in the shoulders and free with his smiles. It shows in the picture: Jack’s hand rests easily on Eric’s shoulder, like it belongs there, and his smile crinkles the corners of his eyes. Eric himself is grinning so wide it’s a wonder his jaw doesn’t just fall off. (It’s also a wonder no one’s cottoned on to them yet, but Eric’s trying not to think about that possibility.)

“Oh,” Jack says, soft and pleased when Eric shows him the screen. “That’s a really good one. Can you email it to me?”

“I’ll do you one better and text it to you,” Eric says, doing just that. He’s halfway to opening Twitter so he can post it there (“our first selfie as a couple!”) before he remembers he can’t, he absolutely can’t, and he locks the screen quickly and shoves it in his pocket to try and cover his near slip-up.

If Jack notices, he doesn’t say anything—he’s too busy looking at the picture Eric’s just sent him, with a tiny smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. It’s better than any response Eric could possibly get on Twitter, so it’s fine. It’s just for them, and that’s enough.

 

_/ _/ 2 \\_ \\_

Three weeks later, he’s in Providence, where Jack insists on taking him out for a nice dinner, even if it will look suspiciously “date like” to anyone who might be watching.

“I haven’t been recognized in Providence yet,” Jack says over appetizers. Their knees brush under the tiny table; the candlelight and the secluded corner make it undeniably romantic. “That’ll probably change once the season starts, but for now I think we’re safe.  And it’s an excuse to see you all dressed up.” He’s blushing as he says it, and it’s frankly adorable, but Eric can’t resist chirping.

“All dressed up, huh? And to think, just this morning you were tryin’ to get me all _un_ dressed.’” He winks, as though he’d put up an ounce of protest, and grins broadly when Jack bites his lower lip.

“We’ll get there,” Jack says, and Eric forgets, sometimes, how _intense_ Jack’s gaze can be, but he’s not forgetting now, good Lord. “But in the meantime, I really like that vest.”

Eric tries not to preen too obviously; he’d thought it looked good when he bought it, but he’s not too proud to admit he likes hearing Jack say it, too. “You look pretty sharp yourself, Mr. Zimmermann. That your graduation tie?”

“Ha, yeah. You picked it out, so I figured you liked it.”

“It brings out your eyes,” Eric says, because he couldn’t tell Jack that at graduation, but he can now, and how incredible is that?

Jack’s mouth does that funny twist it does when he looks at another one of their past interactions in a new light. “You— Oh.”

But Eric doesn’t want to dwell on the past right now; he can still remember vividly how much it hurt, thinking he was saying goodbye to Jack, knowing he didn’t have the courage to say his piece. “Come on, Zimmermann, bring it in,” he says, scooting his chair around enough that he can lean into Jack’s side. “We better get a picture of how hot we look now, ‘cause I know we’re gonna mess it up later.” Jack picks up his wine glass and tips it against Eric’s in a toast while Eric stretches out his arm to get them both in the picture.

As selfies go, it’s not the best—the lighting in the restaurant is poor and despite Eric’s years of practice the angle is bad. Even if he _could_ post it to Twitter, he wouldn’t be tempted to. But he saves it anyway, because he’s on a date with Jack Zimmermann, who’s looking at him like he’s the only boy in the world. Having photographic proof of that is worth the occasional unflattering selfie. He tucks his phone away and scoots his chair back into place and privately decides that if this is the “before” he really ought to take an “after” picture later tonight, once the tie and the vest are gone.

 

_/ _/ 3 \\_ \\_

He never does get around to taking that “after” picture, mostly because it would involve one of his hands _not_ touching Jack Zimmermann’s perfect ass, and that would be a shame. Anyway, he probably shouldn’t keep pictures like that on his phone. Not like anyone’s going to hack _him_ , but—people see things. Accidents happen. Better to be safe than sorry, and anyway, Eric’s got some very detailed mental pictures by this point. They’re not quite as fun as real dirty pictures, but it’s still no hardship to have to rely on sense memory and some pretty vivid reminiscing when he and Jack are apart.

Besides, if Eric’s careful about that sort of thing, Jack must be ten times more so. He’s not an idiot, and he’s known what “PR” is since before he could pronounce the words, probably.

Which is why Eric is so surprised by what he finds while he’s scrolling through his photos a few days after Jack dropped him off at the Haus. Apparently he’d left his phone unattended at least once in Providence, because there’s an unfamiliar picture of a very familiar person in his photo stream.

It’s of Jack, though he framed the shot so it only shows him from the neck down. Still, Bitty would know those abs anywhere, after the amount of quality time he’s spent with them. Jack’s wearing a flannel, unbuttoned and hanging open, and Eric realizes with a jolt that it’s the same flannel Jack accidentally left behind after moving Eric in.

(At least, Eric had assumed it was an accident. But apparently Jack’s sneakier than he’d been giving him credit for. Eric _loves_ it.)

In the photo, Jack’s jeans ride low, offering a teasing glimpse of the black briefs below. Eric swallows hard. For a picture that’s objectively less naughty than the average underwear ad, it’s stunningly hot. And for a photo whose subject is doing a reasonably good job of maintaining plausible deniability, it’s still very distinctively _Jack_ : because even in his risque selfies, apparently, he pays attention to lighting and composition, because of _course_ he’d wear flannel.

 _When did you take that picture???_ he texts Jack, before pulling it back up to stare some more.

The reply comes quickly; Jack seems to keep his phone closer than he used to now that he and Eric text all the time. _Haha. one morning while you were in the shower. I hope you don’t mind_.

 _Not at ALL_ , Eric replies, and adds a kissing emoji just for good measure.

_And I know you’re not gonna share it with anyone, but, you know… don’t share it with anyone?_

_Don’t you worry, honey_ , Eric texts back. _This one is allllll mine._

 

_/ _/ 4 \\_ \\_

Eric’s never really been the type to post pictures of his “haul” on Christmas or his birthday, and he’s never quite gotten the YouTube trend of unboxing videos, either. It’s always just felt like boasting, and while he knows he’s been lucky in a lot of ways, his parents didn’t raise him to flaunt that all over the place.

Even so, it is damn hard not to reach for his phone when he unwraps his present from Jack on their first (belated) Christmas together. It’s a 5-quart Kitchenaid mixer (because of course it is) in the same shade of Falconers blue as the Dutch oven they bought together over the summer. (Because of course it is.) But platonic bros do not buy other platonic bros expensive kitchen appliances—although perhaps the world would be a better place if they did—and there’s no way something like this could show up on his Twitter timeline without raising questions.

Which is a pity, because this mixer is a piece of art, and he hasn’t even put it to work yet.

“I, um,” Jack starts, apparently made nervous by Eric’s awed silence. “I wanted to get you a bunch of the attachments, too, but Shitty said I should start small.”

Eric tries not to shriek at the absurdity of that statement. _This boy, y’all. This. Boy._

“Well,” Jack amends. “Small-ish.”

Eric gets his lungs back under control. “He’s probably right, honey. Do you really want to arm me with the ice cream maker attachment?”

“There are vegetable ones, too.”

“And I won’t miss them,” Eric says firmly. “Baby, this is already too much, in the best possible way, and I love it. Thank you,” he says, and moves to put aside the box so he can crawl over to Jack and express his appreciation more eloquently.

But Jack puts up a hand, waves Eric back into place. “Wait, wait, I wanna get a picture. Bitty’s first stand mixer; that’s a Kodak moment.” He’s got his chirping face on, and Eric sticks out his tongue at him.  
  
But he wraps his arms around the box anyway, resting his chin on top of it and hoping Jack can tell that the stars in his eyes have nothing—or, well, almost nothing—to do with fancy kitchen appliances.

 

_/ _/ 5 \\_ \\_

They move in together slowly, over weekends and breaks, until one day Eric looks around the apartment and realizes that more of his things are here in Providence, with Jack, than at the Haus or back in Georgia.

So it’s not really a surprise when Jack asks him if he’d like to stay in Rhode Island for the summer, and then maybe, if that goes well, move in for good after graduation. Jack looks nervous as he says it, more nervous that Eric’s seen him in a long time, and Eric can’t help the fondness that washes over him in response. As though he would ever want to say no, as though that wasn’t the direction they’d been heading since that first pair of shorts that Eric accidentally left behind.

Still, things feel different, more purposeful, those first few weeks of officially living together. It’s not the first time they’ve done their laundry together, Jack folding while Eric sorts socks, or the first time they’ve grocery shopped together, but now it’s—infinitely more real, somehow. This is the genuine article; they’re not “playing house” any more. Their weekends together aren’t an escape from real life, they _are_ real life.

It hits Eric in the chest one morning as he opens their closet to pack a bag for the rink. He and Jack skate together at least once a week, more if they can manage it, and Eric’s slowly getting to know the rink staff and the other guys on Jack’s team. And though he’s gone through this routine a dozen times before, something about their closet strikes him today: a pair of Jack’s spare skates and his, propped up against each other, laces tangled.

On impulse, he pulls out his phone for a photo, then kneels down on the floor to get a better angle. He’s being silly, he knows—they’re just skates, and it’s not like he can _do_ anything with this picture, but—but they’re _his_ skates, his and Jack’s, and anyway, Jack’s just as much of a sap as Eric is. He’ll appreciate the picture, even if no one else can.

The picture turns out well—watching Jack take photos has improved Eric’s snapshot game considerably—and he spends a few minutes sitting on the floor of the closet, cropping it and playing with filters, before he texts it to Jack.

He’s pretty sure the heart emoji he gets in reply is better than a dozen likes on Instagram anyway.

 

_/ _/ +1 \\_ \\_

Eric gets better at putting down his phone when it’s just the two of them. Jack takes plenty of pictures for them both, and 140 characters becomes increasingly inadequate for expressing the things Eric feels.

Which is why it almost feels foreign, pulling out his phone to live-tweet his way through #graduation2k17, and even more foreign to keep it out when he catches up with his parents and Jack after the ceremony.

It’s hard to believe how much has changed in four years. While it’s true that Eric chose Samwell in part because he hoped it would allow him to finally be himself, he still couldn’t have imagined this moment. It’s beyond surreal to find himself standing by the Pond in his graduation robes with his arm around a handsome Stanley cup winner, who’s kissing his cheek while Coach takes their picture.

(Coach, who urged them to pose for a picture, who chuckled as he raised the camera and said “Aw, come on now, act like you like each other.” Coach, who’d just nodded solemnly and said “I’m proud of you, son,” when Eric came out to his parents last summer, his hands shaking in his lap.)

Coach squints at the picture he just took, then grunts in approval. “Now that’s a good one,” he says, handing the phone back to Eric. “You’re just like your mama—can’t take a bad picture of either of you.” Suzanne blushes and kisses his cheek and says something about “her handsome boys” that Eric doesn’t quite catch.

Eric shows the picture to Jack, who’s still standing close beside him. Because they can now, or at least they can so soon that it makes no difference. “What do you think?” he asks. “This one?”

Jack nods, decisive. “That one. Let’s do it,” he says, with an assurance in his voice that Eric couldn’t have foreseen even a year ago.

They stare at each other for a moment, grinning in giddy anticipation, and then Eric pulls up Twitter and adds the photo. For all they’ve talked and talked about this moment, his hands still shake a little. Jack squeezes his shoulder.

 _This is my boyfriend, Jack_ , Eric types. _He says ‘hey, y’all.’_

**Author's Note:**

> For the OMGCP Trope Challenge #6: Social Media
> 
> Unbeta'd, mainly because I was in a hurry to post this. Why? Because this fic tips me over 100,000 words of fanfic published on AO3. Which is small potatoes for some of y'all, I know--I've read fics longer than my entire output--but I'm a slow writer and I'm proud all the same. I might do some sort of tumblr giveaway to celebrate; I haven't decided yet. (regardless, you can follow me on tumblr at [one thousand hurrahs](http://www.onethousandhurrahs.tumblr.com), where I reblog a lot of cool fan art and yell about writing.)


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